The Chronicles of Harry and Hermione
by zoencomp
Summary: HHr, obviously. The mist had soaked him through... Still, his face remained hot and his eyes were clouded with fever... It was his fault that Sirius was dead... He hoisted Harry’s limp body over his shoulders and disaperated, vanishing into thin air. R&R.
1. Ch 1: On The Rusty Park Swing

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Hey, this is Jess. I'm happy you decided to come read my ff. I'm just going to say that I'm winging this first chapter. Tell me if you like it and maybe I'll write more! Thanks!

Jess

**Chapter One: On The Rusty Park Swing**

It was an unusually cold night for mid-July in Little Whinging. Not a soul stirred as a thick mist crawled along the dark streets. It moved quickly, slithering quietly, innocently, it seemed to strangle its victims as it wrapped itself tightly around lampposts and trees. It squeezed little bits of life into forgotten corners, leaving them to shiver and hide, as they waited for the following morning. A blanket of silence was wrapped tightly around the sleeping neighborhood. The only sound was the creaking of a rusty swing in the play-park off Magnolia Crescent.

The swing was occupied by a boy of nearly sixteen years of age. He had unruly, dark hair that hid a thin, lightning bolt scar on the forehead of a skinny, tanned face. His faded gray sweatshirt and worn jeans looked as though they hadn't seen a washing machine in months. From behind round glasses that were beginning to fog up from the thick mist, Harry Potter's intense green eyes stared, brooding, at the mulched ground. His arms dangled limply at his sides, fingertips well hidden inside the sweatshirt's massive, soiled sleeves. The boy dragged the toes of his trainers through the damp earth as he swayed slowly back and forth.

But if you were to have walked by the play-park that night, you would not have seen this boy. You would have seen an empty swing, shifting slowly in a non-existing breeze. This was because Harry Potter had taken special precautions not to be found. He did not want to be seen. All he wanted to do was sit and think. He wanted to be alone. He did not want to be bothered.

Harry had not eaten in days. He had left his uncle's house three nights ago for no known reason. He had spent the last two days and nights on this very swing, hidden by his invisibility cloak. Harry had not moved once, drifting in and out of consciousness, swimming in depression and sorrow. Several times his mind had brushed on thoughts of suicide. There was only one thing that kept him alive.

A mere memory, it was his candle in the dark, his beacon, and the fuel that kept him running. As he starred at the damp woodchips by his feet, two faces swam in and out of focus in the back of his mind. The faces of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, his two best friends at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, were smiling brightly at him. This kept him from complete insanity.

Suddenly, the deafening silence was broken by a low, growling voice.

"Potter." A man said quietly, " Well, it definitely took us long enough to find you!"

Harry didn't move. He recognized the voice and wondered how long Moody had been standing behind him. Mad Eye was the only person who could have spotted Harry rocking back and forth on the rusty park swing. His magical eye could see through anything, even invisibility cloaks.

Moody continued to speak.

"People will be glad to know that you are alright, Potter. Molly's been in a right state since you went missing. We've all been worried sick about you. You've caused us all many sleepless nights."

Harry still said nothing. He felt a pang of guilt about making Mrs. Weasley worry. The boy leaned his head against the iron chain of the swing and felt it dig into the side of his head. He stared straight ahead, not seeing anything through the water droplets that had condensed on his glasses. The mist had soaked him through and he was shivering uncontrollably. Still, his face remained hot and his eyes were clouded with fever.

"Harry, I've come to take you to Headquarters." Moody's voice seemed to become softer, friendlier.

Harry still did not move. He issued a hoarse whisper.

"No."

It was the first word he had spoken in days. His throat hurt. He felt like getting up and screaming his heart out at the man behind him. Moody didn't understand. He could not go back to Sirius's house. It was his fault that Sirius was dead. Everything was his fault.

"I am taking you back to Headquarters, Potter," Moody repeated. This time he seemed more forceful. His voice was drained of all emotion.

Anger boiled in Harry's chest. He raised himself from the swing, teetering and unbalanced on his weak, sleep-deprived body. He grabbed at the swing chains to stable himself and yelled at Moody with all his strength.

"I can't go back! I won't. You don't understand! Nobody understands. It's my fault he's gone! He's dead! I can't go! I won't, I won't…"

Harry's knees gave way. He sank to the ground, unconscious.

Moody sighed and bent down. He hoisted Harry's limp body over his shoulders and Disaperated, vanishing into thin air.


	2. Ch 2: Opening Sleepy Eyes

Hey Guys, this is Zoe, I'm taking over this FF and continuing to work on it since Jess is no longer interested. Don't worry- she's given me permission. I hope that you enjoy my continuation. Jessie wrote the first chapter, and I'm writing the rest of the story. R&R!   
Chapter 2: Opening Sleepy Eyes 

Harry woke the next morning under crisp sheets, his head resting on a cool pillow. As he inhaled, his first breath of the day, a soft cinnamon-clove smell warmed his senses. He burrowed deeper into the covers, hugging the pillow. His clothes were different, he realized. Gone was the grubby old sweatshirt- and the jeans as well. Instead he was wearing a set of soft pajamas-not his.

_Where was he?_ Harry finally came in contact with the sense to look around the room. He shifted in bed, craning his neck to see around as he positioned his glasses, which had been on the bedside table, on the bridge of his nose. For the first time, he noticed sunlight streaming in through a window- a rather old window with blurred glass. The pattern it dotted across the floor was entrancing; Harry watched it for a bit. There were carpets on the floor- dark green and black. Did the Dursley's have those? They seemed somewhat farmiliar. No- Aunt Petunia thought black was a horrible color- she had readjusted the house so that it contained only white and beige.

Harry shifted on his elbows, turning to see the other side of the room. There was an old wooden door, a large, grand dresser, and a small lamp. Harry turned back to the dresser. It looked similar as well- just like the kind that they had at-

The events of the night before came streaming back, but just barely. Harry remembered; Moody… Moody? He'd come and… Harry fell onto the pillow, staring at the patterned plaster ceiling. _Why?_ He thought, his head throbbing. _Why did he bring me here? They'll never understand anything that I tell them._

He noticed, for the first time, voices outside his door.

"Dear, come with me. Harry's got to be awake by now." There was a clinking and clanking of porcelain and a rattle on the door. "Oh goodness, don't have three hands, now do I? Take the tray, please dear." More clinking, then the door opened. Harry rolled over onto his other side, away from the two who entered, but not before they realized that he was awake.

"Good Harry, up already." He heard as Mrs. Weasley scurried across the room, lighting all the lamps and adding to the already-too-bright glow of the room.

Harry laid still, closing his eyes and hoping that she and whoever else was there would leave. Then he could turn out the lights and close the drapes. Maybe teach himself to apparate to the moon and fall into some kind of lunar crater.

Mrs. Wealsey did leave, but not before whispering something to the other occupant of the room. Harry did not catch her words. The door shut. Hopefully both people had left, but Harry scrunched his eyes tight for several more seconds to make sure. When he heard no sound, he opened them.

Before him, her eyes somewhat taunting, but serious nonetheless, stood Hermione. To Harry at that moment, her hair was bushier than ever, and her features, posture and the way that she carried his breakfast tray could not have more clearly said, 'I know everything and you're just being stupid.'

Harry snapped his eyes shut once more, holding back a groan. _So I was wrong- but maybe she didn't see. Pray to God- let her go away and leave me alone._ Hermione remained silent, but only for several seconds. She quickly walked away, and by the sound of it, placed the tray on the windowsill. Then she returned to Harry's bedside. Strange- she stopped moving. Then, suddenly, Harry's sheets were ripped from his body, coming to a rest where the girl had evidently positioned herself- at the foot of Harry's bed. The boy curled up into a ball, refusing to open his eyes. His toes were cold on the mattress. _I don't want to talk to you. Go away._

After several more seconds, Harry heard the soft padding of Hermione's slippers on the carpet as she moved over towards his head.

"Harry- I know you're awake." Hermione whispered bluntly in his ear. "You've moved- twice."

Harry didn't reply. He held his breath. _Go away_, he thought again.

After several long moments Hermione sighed and backed away from his ear. "When one has to refer to desperate measures-" And with that she sat on him, crushing the remaining oxygen that Harry had left from his last breath out of his body in a feeble wheeze.

"Hermione-" Harry coughed weakly, his head felt like it were about to explode. He opened his eyes, but was blinded by the sudden brightness and had to shut them once more. Hermione didn't seem to want to move from his back.

"See? You're awake. Will you eat breakfast? Mrs. Weasley told me not to leave this room until you had eaten everything on that tray over there."

Harry forced his eyes open to glance at the windowsill holding his food, not replying to Hermione's question. His breakfast- French toast, eggs, bacon, sausages, potatoes and several rolls, was enough to feed ten people-- approximately. Even though the food made his mouth water, he pushed a groan though his throat, just to make the girl think that he wasn't interested.

Hermione didn't seem to mind though.

"Fine," she said "Fine, I'll just have to stay here." She crossed her legs and bounced, forcing more air from Harry's lungs.

"Gerroff," Harry managed. She didn't move, and after one last bounce, Harry shifted and pushed her off the bed and onto the floor using his feet. Suddenly he felt extremely exhausted. He retrieved his covers from the foot of the bed and burrowed into them, turning away from Hermione and the window, shutting his eyes once more.

"Harry!" Hermione said playfully as she picked herself off from the floor. "I can't believe that you-" she halted herself when she noticed that he had turned a cold shoulder. "Fine- fine. Be that way." She walked over to the tray of food, and by the sounds of it, picked it up and moved towards the door.

"Alright!" Harry exclaimed, but his breath came short and he coughed. "I'll- I'll eat if you turn out the lights and draw the drapes. They're hurting my head."


End file.
